


thunder road

by wtfrenchtoast



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Porn, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Road Head, Vintage Cars, muscle cars, porn porn porn, wow there is literally no excuse for this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-09 16:16:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1989489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtfrenchtoast/pseuds/wtfrenchtoast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjoy the ride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	thunder road

**Author's Note:**

> This is porn. I should be ashamed of myself but I'm not.

Bucky lets out a low whistle, his handsome face painted over with an awed expression. His eyes coast hungrily over the smooth curves, the flawless shape. "She's a beauty, Stevie. Where'd you find her?" He pulls one hand from the pocket of his well-worn jeans and runs a fingertip over one gentle swell. 

"I didn't," Steve replies easily. "She found me."

Bucky shoots him a knowing smirk. I just bet she did. "Think we could take her out?" he suggests. 

"We could." Steve's not giving anything away, not this time. He wants Bucky to work for it. 

"You ain't got nowhere to be, kid, I know that for damn sure. Now you gonna take me for a ride, or what?" That grin, the panty-dropper that's charmed more than a few proper young ladies right out of their panties. Should have a goddamn license if he's gonna go flashing that thing around. 

"Thought you'd never ask," Steve replies easily, palming the keys and sliding into the driver's seat. 

*

They couldn’t have imagined a more perfect day for a drive. It’s a crystal-clear July afternoon to let the Pacific Coast Highway take them where it pleased, and they had needed it. Bad. Steve couldn’t remember the last time they hadn’t had their schedules packed with back-to-back meetings, trainings, missions, or some combination of the three. 

Before Steve had even had a chance to put the key in the ignition, Bucky’s jaw dropped once he spotted the beautifully restored interior (“All original,” Steve had boasted proudly). It was another ten minutes of oohing and aahing and inspecting every piece of its impeccably maintained engine, and then they had finally been on their way. 

“This. This, here, is the secret to national security,” Bucky had declared. “Screw the shield. No man alive would dare put so much as a scratch on this baby. You’d be safe as houses.”

Steve’s laugh was easy and carefree. “1972 was a good year,” he’d agreed. 

He had bought the Charger on a whim, a decision wildly out of character with his understandably frugal nature. Spotting it for sale in a quiet SoCal suburb, it was an easy bargain with a middle-aged mechanic who was all too happy to sell his treasure to Captain America himself. “Suits you perfectly,” the kind-faced man had said knowingly. 

Steve agrees. It’s the kind of car that had he been around in its heyday, he liked to think he would have owned. 

A day, a handshake and one personal check later, Steve Rogers was behind the wheel of a paragon of American engineering. And it felt damn good. 

Almost as good as having his best friend there to share it with him. Bucky's elbow is resting comfortably on the center armrest, relaxed and content as Steve's ever seen him. His metal fingers drum casually on the aged leather, tapping out a tune only he can hear. Steve loves it. Loves catching glimpses of his easy, effortless confidence, like they're back in Belgium in a bombed-out tavern, heckling the other Commandos and throwing back beers. 

It's a warm memory. He misses the way he just belonged to their pack of mismatched marauders, like there was nowhere more natural for him to be. 

He glances over to where Bucky is sprawled over his seat, taking up as much space as possible. A small private smile passes between them. 

He turns his eyes back to the long, empty stretch of road ahead. 

"Where we going, Cap?" Bucky lazily asks. 

Steve shrugs. "Does it matter?" 

Bucky just grins. 

*

An hour later, though, Bucky begins to get restless. And where that Bucky goes, Steve is well aware trouble tends to follow.

It starts with just a couple of fingers, cool metal through his faded jeans. They innocuously come to rest on Steve's thigh as he keeps his eyes focused on the miles of faded blacktop. Steve slides a suspicious glance toward the owner of said wandering fingers, only to be met with an innocently dozing Bucky. 

It's barely another minute that goes by before he feels them gently brushing against the fly of his jeans. Nearly imperceptible. Nearly. Except now that's all Steve can notice. His heartbeat begins to thunder in his ears as a hungry ache grows under his best friend's touch. 

Up and down. Up and down. The rhythm is hypnotic. He keeps his thousand-yard stare fixed firmly on the horizon, determined to keep his composure. 

Miles pass but neither of them pay any mind. Bucky slowly, painfully escalates his ministrations until he's full-on massaging Steve's cock through his jeans. Only a slight smirk gives any indication that Bucky knows exactly how hot under the collar the good captain is. 

He cups his metal hand around Steve's erection as he strokes him, buffered by the stiff fabric between them. "What's up, Stevie? Something on your mind? You been awful quiet."

The super-soldier's jaw is set tightly, and only when he forces out a tense reply does Bucky notice how hard he's gritting his teeth. "Not a thing," he chokes out. "Just...enjoying the scenery."

With a devious smile, he closes his grip around Steve's dick and squeezes cruelly. The bitten-off groan that slips from his pouty red mouth is like music to Bucky's ears. "Can't argue with that," he says airily. "Beautiful out here. The wind, the ocean...it's so peaceful you can almost forget that we ain't the only ones on the road, y'know?"

Steve opens his mouth to reply (although with the vast majority of his blood concentrating south of his belt line, he has no idea what he's planning on saying), but the words die on his tongue when he hears the telltale sound of a zipper. His, specifically. 

Bucky's dragging his fly down inch by torturous inch, and as the cool air caresses his painfully sensitive skin, he curses under his breath. He's dying to drop his eyes and watch as those smooth fingers draw him out through the slit in his boxers, but he can't. Not while the blacktop is racing by at sixty miles an hour.

Steve exhales slowly through pursed lips. Bucky, you rat bastard. He can't help but push up into his best friend's hand as it firmly grips his aching cock. The tip is steadily dribbling pre-cum and with a smirk Bucky spreads it over the taut skin. 

"Holy - oh my God," he groans, dragging out the last syllable painfully. 

"Like that?" Bucky taunts. He's abandoned all pretense of innocence, apparently, in favor of taking Captain America apart, piece by piece. Each stroke lights up his nerve endings like Times Square on New Year's Eve. 

"Don't - holy shit - don't ask questions you already know the answers to," Steve chokes out. 

His smile spreads into a shit-eating grin. "You love it. You fucking love it." Without a shred of warning he leans over the center console and fits the head of Steve's cock between his lips. He forms a tight ring around the rigid flesh and slowly, so painfully slowly, drags Steve's length into his eager mouth. 

"Shit," Steve bites off, and Bucky is jarred slightly when the car veers sharply to the left. 

His lips make an obscene pop as he pulls off and smirks. "Eyes on the road, Cap," he scolds. "Shame on you, treating such a magnificent piece of engineering so carelessly-"

Suddenly his entire body is thrown forward as Steve slams on the brakes, tires screeching in protest. Bucky isn't even given a second to react before a strong hand grabs him by the collar and drags him onto the shoulder of the highway. He catches a glimpse of Steve's chiseled face, twisted into a glare that could melt the entire Arctic Circle. Like a mother cat carrying a mischievous kitten, Steve manhandles the dark-haired man with barely any effort whatsoever. 

The mirth fades from Bucky's eyes instantly as his best friend deposits him in a ravine twenty or so yards from the roadside. He can hear the oncoming traffic pass but it's the only sign that they're not actually alone. 

A confused smile on his face, he puts his hands up in mock surrender. "Steve, man, I was just tryin' to ruffle your feathers, you know that-" 

His words die on his tongue as he takes notice of Steve's hands. 

His fly and belt still undone from their activities in the car, Captain America has one powerful hand wrapped around the base of his cock. Bucky watches, mesmerized, as he strokes himself languidly, all the way up to the angry-scarlet red of the tip. 

"You and your smart mouth, Barnes," and damn if the dangerous timbre of his voice didn't send a thrill down his spine, "What do you think I'm made of, huh?"

He just can't resist. "Homemade apple pie and the Bill of Rights?"

Steve's eyes flash dangerously. "Get over here. On your knees. Now."

Bucky being Bucky, he almost rips off a snappy salute and a "Sir yes sir" but thinks better of it at the last second. He moves like a panther on all fours, keeping his half-lidded gaze fixed on Steve, until he kneels at his feet. 

He threads his fingers through Bucky's floppy dark hair, lovingly at first then yanks cruelly upward. A short gasp of pain, and Steve's brow furrows, worried he's hurt him. But the wry sparkle in his best friend's eye proves that fear unfounded. Cocky sonofabitch.

"All the way down. Good, just like that." Bucky forces himself to relax his throat, but he can't stifle the gag as Steve's thick head settles on the back of his tongue. He's determined, though, and works himself open until his nose rests against the thick curls at the base of Steve's cock. 

"You wanna blow me, Barnes, you're gonna do it where I can get the full show. So you better make it worth my while," and he rests both hands around the base of Bucky's skull.

His words burn a searing trail through Bucky, his heartbeat a tremor through his body that shakes him down to his core. With renewed vigor he sucks and licks and swallows around Steve’s length like his life depends on it. He draws moan after agonized moan from the captain’s parted lips and grins to himself. He loves, loves taking the man apart piece by piece in a way only he knows how. 

He massages the underside of Steve's cock with his tongue when Steve lets out a particularly undignified whine. 

"Bucky," he shudders, firm hands pushing on his shoulders, "you gotta - I'm gonna come, you gotta stop-"

It's filthy, how Bucky's impossibly blue eyes meet Steve's while the former's plush red lips are wrapped around his dick. It knocks the wind clear from his lungs. 

Bucky releases the head with an obscene pop. "You got something better in mind?" He manages to smirk, even as saliva drops down his chin. 

"Damn right I do." Steve grabs him by the collar and roughly throws him to the ground. Bucky catches himself on his elbows, nearly hidden in the tall grass, and his eyes roll back in his head when a sharp tug rips his belt open. 

It happens fast, neither of them patient enough to draw it out. Steve spits crudely between his best friend's cheeks so it trails down, slicks him up. One thick fingertip slides over his hole and circles the tight ring of muscle there. 

His hesitation doesn't go unnoticed. "Ain't gettin' any younger here, Stevie."

"I don't wanna, oh God Bucky," Steve whimpers, "I don't wanna hurt you but I gotta be in you now, please-"

"Just-just do it," Bucky chokes. "Just put it in me then." 

He should protest. He should insist on prepping him, on taking enough time to make sure he was good and ready. 

"Please." Steve's eye catches the way Bucky's steel-trap muscles are trembling with need. "Just trust me. I can take it."

And because he has never been able to deny the man anything, not really, no matter how much he's wanted to in their years together, he acquiesces. Slowly, he presses the tip of his cock against Bucky's puckered hole and watches, fevered, he slips inside. Filthy curses ramble from his lips when he's greeted with snug, slick heat. 

Bucky cries out sharply and Steve freezes. "I'm fine, Jesus, keep going!" 

Steve just rolls his eyes and continues to drive himself, inch by painstaking inch, as deep as Bucky's ass will let him. He bottoms out with a groan. 

"You're fucking dirty, Stevie," Bucky taunts breathlessly. "Look at you. What do ya think America would say if they saw this? Their golden boy balls deep inside me?" From Steve's vantage point he can just make out the furious back-and-forth of where Bucky's jerking himself. It sends a wicked thrill down his spine. 

He's too strung out to attempt anything witty, but Steve can choke out, "They'd be cheering me on." He punctuates his words with a brutal thrust that sinks him to the hilt. 

From there neither of them can manage much banter. Everything outside of the two of them - the drone of the traffic above, the summer sun beating down - falls away unnoticed, until it's just the steady rhythm of Steve's thrusts and the wet slap of skin against skin. 

Steve loves him. He loves him and it's as natural as breathing and just as effortless. Each and every time they come together that reality cements itself a little more in his mind. He welcomes it now, wraps himself in it, where seventy-odd years ago he didn't have that luxury. 

He leans forward and snakes an arm around Bucky's waist, knocking Bucky's hand away from his dick and taking its place easily. "Gonna come soon," he pants. "Gonna come inside you, fill you up. You ready, Buck?" 

The dark-haired man can only moan in response. Pre-cum coats Steve's fist liberally as he jacks him faster, harder, in time with his thrusts. 

And then he can't hold it back, it floods his body like a tidal wave. The tightening in his balls surges forth and with a guttural cry he drives himself in deep, pulsating over and over as he empties himself inside Bucky. 

"Fuck," his best friend shouts as he responds in kind. Thick, hot ropes of come shoot from his cock and slick Steve's fist, the ground beneath them. Steve milks him until the last drop is squeezed out, eliciting a shudder from Bucky.

Steve slumps forward and rests his forehead on Bucky's sweaty back. "Some ride, huh," he mumbles. 

Bucky can only chuckle. Some ride.


End file.
